


The Karl Lagerfeld Inspired One (Or, In Which Patrick Stump Has Lost Control of His Life)

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 08:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick Stump is your average high school teacher who falls in love with not-so-average model Pete Wentz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Karl Lagerfeld Inspired One (Or, In Which Patrick Stump Has Lost Control of His Life)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not entirely happy with how this fic came out, but I worked for a while on it so I'm posting it. Also, the person that I would normally have beta my work is in the middle of finals and I didn't want to burden her with it, so this is unbeta'd and only checked through by me, so apologies for any mistakes that may show up.

“This is it, I’ve lost control of my life.” Patrick sighs. It’s 5:25 PM on a Monday evening and Patrick is standing in the middle of the men’s department of Macy’s holding up a pair of light gray, drawstring sweatpants. Joe huffs next to him, clutching a pair of dark-wash jeans and a black button-up shirt in his arms. 

“You don’t _have_ to buy the sweats, Patrick,” he points out, shaking his head. 

“But I _want_ to buy the sweats. That’s the problem. These sweats are ugly and sad. They’re the perfect metaphor for my life, and I want them. Hence, I’ve lost control of my life.” Patrick doesn’t look at Joe as he responds, still holding up the sweats in his hands. 

Joe sighs and rolls his eyes at his friend and mumbles something about how they should go pay. Patrick follows him to the check-out counter where the clerk takes one look at Patrick’s purchase and gives him a look of what Patrick perceives to be either sympathy or pity. 

They walk out of the store and start heading to their respective cars. It’s already starting to grow dark, and the bitter Chicago winter air nips at Patrick’s nose as he shrugs his coat closer to his body. 

“So, me and a couple of people are going to see Andy’s band play tonight at a bar, if you want to go?” Joe asks as he fishes into his coat pocket for his keys. 

“I can’t,” Patrick replies, shaking his head, “I have to be in early for work tomorrow.” 

Joe nods understandingly and tosses his purchases into the trunk of his car before returning to the driver’s side door.

“Well, if you change your mind, just call me and I can give you a ride.” He pulls out a cigarette and a lighter. Patrick watches him light it and exhale smoke upwards. He picks at the plastic bag he’s holding and leans back against Joe’s car. They’re comfortably quiet as the wind starts to pick up and the streetlight above them flickers ominously. 

“I should get a cat.” Patrick thinks out loud. Joe tilts his head slightly and quirks an eyebrow in Patrick’s direction, which disappears behind his massive head of curly hair. 

“You’re allergic to cats.” 

“Maybe I grew out of it?” Patrick suggests. 

“You broke out in hives when you pet my girlfriend’s cat like, 2 years ago.” Joe deadpans. 

“Don’t patronize me.” 

Joe tosses the cigarette butt on the ground and stamps it out under his black boot. Patrick watches it smolder and then burn out completely, the smoke still rising up from its ashy remains. 

“I’ll see you later, dude. And seriously, you should come see Andy’s band. It’d mean a lot to him.” Joe says. Patrick nods solemnly and watches as Joe climbs into his car and drives off, leaving Patrick in the glow of the flickering light before he makes his way to his own car. 

Patrick flings the door to his apartment open and kicks it closed behind him as he sorts through the past few days of mail he’s neglected to pick up from his mailbox down in the lobby. It’s mostly junk mail, a few bills, and a couple of magazines that he’s subscribed to over the years. He tosses the junk letters into the trash and sets the bills into a wire basket where he keeps all of his important mail. He grabs the latest issue of Rolling Stone and flops back on his tattered, red sofa. 

U2 is on the cover of the magazine and Patrick really couldn't care less about Bono or whatever fucking humanitarian bullshit he’s doing now. _I get it_ , Patrick thinks to himself, _you’re better than me. Stop rubbing it in my face._ He thumbs through the issue, looking for any article that catches his attention. There’s an interview with Billie Joe Armstrong that he decides he’ll read later, and he continues to flick through the pages. 

His eyes fall upon an advertisement for some cologne that doesn’t smell all that bad from the folded sample page. The ad itself is simple: a shirtless, tattooed man in tight jeans and ratty looking Chucks is surrounded by beautiful women who all seem to be completely crazed by the scent of the cologne he’s holding. The model smirks with one eyebrow slightly raised as if he has a dirty little secret. He fleetingly thinks that, damn, this guy is good-looking. 

Patrick scans the page wondering who exactly this guy is? He shakes his head and quickly tosses the magazine onto the coffee table. He buries his face in his hands and makes an exasperated noise. His mind wanders to the stack of ungraded papers sitting in his briefcase. He wishes that he could just turn off work-mode Patrick for a little while. But that’s what he gets for being a teacher, he guesses. 

\--

“Pete, we need you on set now!” Pete looks up at his freshly done makeup in the mirror and smiles gratefully at the makeup artist before hopping out of the chair and walking quickly towards the photoshoot setup. An assistant grabs his arm and rushes him over to the set. Pete blinks at the blinding lights and squints, looking for the director of the shoot so he can ask for direction if necessary. 

The shoot is for a new hair styling product that wasn’t actually used to do Pete’s hair. He’s supposed to sit in front of the mirror and run his fingers through his hair, pretending that he’s using the cream being advertised. As always, the photo director has him shirtless for the shoot. 

Everything goes relatively quickly, the director shouting different directions and positive things at Pete while he does very little variation of the same pose for about 100 shots. He’s rushed off of the set as a female model is rushed on, doing the same advertisement as a parallel to his own. 

In the dressing room, Pete peels off the too-tight jeans and pulls on his own, thankful for how old and worn they are. He pulls on a plain black t-shirt and his Chucks and decides to find a bathroom to wash his face. He immediately starts to scrub off the layer of foundation that was slapped on this morning and works on getting as much eyeliner off as possible. Skin raw and red, Pete pats his face dry and makes one last effort to get the remaining eyeliner off. 

“Hey, Pete,” a voice startles him and Pete whirls around to see William Beckett, another freelance model. William was signed to a major modeling agency a few years back, until he got arrested for possession of cocaine. That charge--along with a few scattered DUIs here and there--was apparently the straw that broke the camel’s back and William was fired after being bailed out by his agent. He looks pretty much the same now as he did then. He’s tall, thin, and fragile-looking, and, in Pete’s opinion, is definitely more model material than he is. They met at a party a few months back and found out they had a lot more in common than either of them thought. 

“Hey, William, what’s up?” Pete responds. William leans against the wall and folds his arms across his chest. 

“I just wanted to know if you have any plans for tonight?” 

“Uh, no, I don’t. Why?” 

“A friend of mine invited me to go see this band play at this dive bar tonight at eight. You interested in going?”

“Yeah, sure, dude. That sounds awesome.” Pete says, grinning. 

William smiles and nods his head. “Excellent, I’ll see you later then,” he slinks out of the bathroom as Pete grabs his phone and sets a reminder on his phone for the event. 

\--

Patrick situates himself at his desk turns on the silver desklamp. He stares at the pile of exams and sighs. Why did he put off doing this? He mentally curses himself and pulls out the exam key and a red pen, readying himself for the task.

About 30 exams later, Patrick glances at the clock on his bedside table. It blinks 7:25 at him in neon green numbers. He bites his lower lips and looks back at the pile of exams still ungraded. He can finish these tomorrow, right? Yeah, he’ll just finish reading the other 50-something tests and go see Andy’s band tonight. 

He grabs his phone and quickly shoots off a text to Joe that he’ll drive himself to the show before rushing to his closet to find something decent to wear. 

\--

Pete turns up at the bar in too-tight jeans, a dark purple polo, and a large grey coat with a black scarf fashioned around his neck. His eyes are lined with thick, dark eyeliner and his hair is perfectly affixed to his forehead, held with the always trusty can of Aqua Net he keeps under the sink. 

He scans the crowd for the tall, pale creature that invited him, and spots him by the bar, talking animatedly with the bartender. Pete shuffles through the crowd and immediately pats William on the shoulder to alert him of his presence. William jumps and turns towards him, a grin stretching across his face when he realizes who Pete is. 

“Pete Wentz! I didn’t think you’d show!” William greets loudly, pulling Pete into a tight hug. His drink sloshes around and spills on the floor, leading Pete to believe that William has been here for a while and has had more than a few drinks. 

“It’s not like I have much else to do.” Pete shrugs. He glances at the bartender who is smiling at them both while vigorously drying a highball glass with a white rag.

“Oh! Pete, this is Brendon Urie. He’s a musician and a good friend of mine. Brendon, this is Pete Wentz. Pete’s a model, too.” William explains. Brendon nods and sticks out his hand towards Pete. Pete shakes the small boy’s hand vigorously and smiles back at him with mirrored enthusiasm. 

“So, who’s this band that’s playing?” Pete asks as he scans the stage, watching the different members of the group set up their equipment. 

“They’re called Racetraitor. They’re a straight edge, hardcore band. They’re pretty cool if you’re into the hardcore scene, which I know you are, so.” William says and shrugs. “My friend Gabe invited me to come see them, I guess he’s friends with some people who know the drummer or whatever.” 

“That’s cool,” Pete nods. He turns to Brendon the Bartender and orders a vodka soda. 

\--

Patrick arrives at the bar just before Racetraitor is about to go on. He searches the tables and spots Joe’s large hair and beelines for him. He’s immediately greeted by Joe and Travis McCoy, one of the history teachers at Glenbrook South High School. Travis has worked at the school a few years longer than Patrick, but he happily took Patrick under his wing to show him the ropes (which Patrick is extremely grateful for). Since then, Travis and Patrick have become extremely good friends, often discussing music and history together in the faculty lounge during lunch. 

Travis is accompanied by another warm body who smiles and waits politely while greetings are exchanged amongst friends. 

“Patrick! This is my friend, Gabe! Gabe, this is Patrick, the music teacher I’ve been telling you about.” Travis says. 

“Oh, cool, it’s nice to meet you, dude!” Gabe says, extending his hand, which Patrick accepts and shakes before seating himself next to Joe. 

“You got here just in time, Patrick.” Joe says, pointing to the stage where Andy has seated himself behind his drum kit to do soundcheck. Andy looks around and waves when he spots his friends, smiling extra wide when he notices Patrick sitting with them. They wave back and Andy begins to check his equipment. 

The set is great and Patrick eventually lets himself feel more relaxed, momentarily forgetting about the piles of work he still has to do before the semester is over and final grades are due. Andy comes down from the stage and makes his way to their table. He wipes his face off with a small towel and wraps it around his neck. 

“That was so awesome!” Joe says, patting Andy roughly on the back. 

“Great set, man!” Travis interjects. 

“You guys were fucking awesome!” Gabe agrees. 

“You were great, dude!” Patrick exclaims, wrapping an arm around Andy’s shoulder. 

“Thanks,” Andy responds sheepishly to everyone’s remarks. 

They sit and talk for a few minutes before Gabe scampers off to find a friend of his that he invited to the show. 

Patrick glances at his phone and swears under his breath. He should go home and get to bed since he has to be at school early in the morning for a faculty meeting. Patrick lets Joe and Andy know that he’s leaving and Travis decides to do the same. 

As they say their goodbyes, Andy hugs Patrick and smiles at him gratefully. “Thanks for coming out, dude. I know you’re busy all the time, but it means a lot to me.” 

Patrick smiles back and him and gives him another squeeze before following Travis out of the bar. 

\--

Pete is extremely impressed with the band’s set and is slightly disappointed when the show is over. He turns back towards the bar and Brendon places a Shirley Temple in front of him and a glass of water in front of William. Pete grins and sips on the fruity, non-alcoholic drink. Out of the corner of his eye he sees a tall, shadowy figure wrap its arms around William, who jumps and knocks his glass over. Pete turns to see a lanky, dark-haired man in a bright purple hoodie and skinny jeans with a gold chain around his neck. 

“Hola, Papi. ¿Qué tal?” he says to William, who turns away, red-faced. 

The guy turns to Pete and gives him a quizzical smile before William regains his composure enough to introduce them to each other. 

“Gabe, this is Pete Wentz, he’s a model. Pete, this is Gabe Saporta. He’s a, uh, good friend of mine.” 

“Nice to meet you.” Pete greets, nodding his head at Gabe. 

“Likewise,” Gabe grins before tugging on William’s arm. 

“C’mon, Travie’s over there if you guys want to hang out.” 

William turns to Pete and raises an eyebrow. Pete shrugs and slides off of his seat, following the other two to a table near the stage. Seated around it is the drummer from Racetraitor and a guy with large, curly hair, sipping thoughtfully on a beer. Gabe looks around and furrows his brow. 

“Where’d Trav and Patrick go?” he asks. 

“They have work early tomorrow so they left.” Joe answers, shrugging. 

They take their seats at the table and Pete smiles sheepishly at Joe and Andy before turning to William, expecting some kind of introduction. William, however, is more interested in something that Gabe is whispering in his ear. Pete rolls his eyes and turns back to the other two at the table. 

“I’m Pete Wentz,” he introduces, sticking his hand out. 

“Joe Trohman,” the large-haired man says. 

“Andy Hurley,” the drummer responds, grinning. 

The three get to talking while Gabe and William disappear, probably off to the men’s restroom if Pete had to guess. A waitress brings over two Shirley Temples and a beer, setting the beer in front of Joe and the two sugary drinks in front of Pete and Andy. Andy waves at Brendon, who waves back with his bar rag in hand. 

“You don’t drink either?” Andy asks Pete. 

“Oh, I do, but not nearly as much as I used to. I’ve only had one drink tonight and then I switched to these fucking things. I think I might have diabetes now.” Pete says before taking a sip. 

They get onto the discussion of music and Andy raves about Saves the Day, a band out of New Jersey that plays more in the vein of power pop. 

“Oh yeah, I know Saves the Day. My band played with them years ago at some skeezy fuckin’ venue downtown. They’re a really good band.” 

“What band were you in?” Joe pipes up. He’d mostly been quiet the entire conversation, occasionally throwing in some band trivia or adding to a story, but Andy did most of the talking. 

“Arma Angelus,” Pete answers. Joe and Andy look at each other and stare at Pete, wide-eyed. 

“You were in Arma fucking Angelus?” Andy marvelled. “Arma is fucking legendary, dude!” 

Joe blinks at Pete and cocks his head to the side. “Pete Wentz…” he mumbles to himself, wondering if he’d heard the name somewhere before and just didn’t recall. “What did you play?” 

“Bass,” 

“Why did you quit?” Andy exclaims, throwing his arms in the air in exasperation. 

“I, uh, don’t really want to talk about it.” Pete mumbles and looks down at his lap. Andy and Joe both nod in understanding and immediately steer the conversation towards something else. 

At the end of the night, Pete stands and stretches, satisfied with the popping in his spine. 

“Well, it was really nice meeting you guys,” he says sincerely. 

“You’re a pretty cool dude. You should hang out with us sometime.” Joe states, nodding his head approvingly of Pete. Pete grins and nods back at him. 

“Yeah, definitely.” 

They exchange phone numbers and Pete leaves the bar, shrugging his coat close against the chilled winds as he makes his way to his car. 

\--

Patrick rolls out of bed at 5:30 AM and stumbles towards the bathroom, half-blind without his glasses. He turns on the shower and strips out of his pajamas while it warms up. He stares at himself in the mirror with disgust and grabs at his stomach. He really needs to lose some weight, he decides. Although, he probably says that to himself at least twice a week and then never does anything about it.

Patrick turns away from the mirror and sticks his hand under the shower water. Satisfied with its temperature, he climbs in and savors the delicious warmth that envelops him. 

He’s dressed, ready, and out the door by 6:45, an apple shoved unattractively in his mouth as he fumbles with his keys to lock the front door. He sets his travel mug full of coffee on top of the car and tosses his briefcase and the apple into the passenger seat. Patrick slides into the driver seat and starts the car, turning the heater up as high as it goes, and rubbing and breathing into his hands vigorously. He sticks his hand up and delicately grabs the mug on the car before setting it into the cup holder. 

Patrick drives to the school, trying not to rush in case of any cops making their rounds. The radio plays some shitty music and Patrick keeps it turned down for his own sanity. He mentally curses the assholes who decided that early morning faculty meetings were a good fucking idea. The Breakfast Blend coffee tastes like heaven as Patrick gulps it down at a stoplight. 

He parks and rushes into the school, making his way towards the classroom that was advertised for the meeting. He quickly strides past two other teachers and barges into the classroom. There are a few other faculty members there and Patrick takes a seat next to Travis. 

“Rough morning?” Travis asks, an amused smile playing on his lips. 

Patrick huffs and rolls his eyes. “Shut up,”

The meeting is boring and ultimately a waste of time, in Patrick’s opinion. It’s all the same spiel about finals next month, and if all of the departments are on the same page about what they’re testing on. Once the meeting is let out, Patrick and Travis walk to the cafeteria together to grab some food. 

“I can’t believe how close it is to the end of the semester.” Travis says as he grabs cereal and a milk carton from the milk bin. 

“I can’t believe how far behind I am on grading. I’ll have to really kick into high gear over Thanksgiving break.” Patrick responds, grabbing a chocolate chip muffin and a milk carton before following Travis to the line of kids waiting to pay for their breakfast. “I’m seriously considering just giving all my classes a free day so I can catch up. Or maybe I’ll make them do theory sheets, if I’m feeling really sadistic.” 

“That’s just more for you to grade.” Travis says.

They each pay for their meals and Patrick follows Travis to his classroom. There’s still 20 minutes before school starts and Travis immediately opens his small box of Kix and pours milk into it before digging in. 

“So, Gabe texted me last night,” Travis mumbles through a mouthful of cereal, “and he said that Joe, Andy, and some other people are hanging out this weekend at his house. You down to go?” 

“What other people?” Patrick asks. He picks thoughtfully at his muffin and tears off a piece to eat. 

“Uh, William, and one of William’s friends. I can’t remember his name, shit. I think it’s Paul or something, I don’t know. But he’s William’s model friend, so.” Travis shrugs and scoops up another bite of Kix. 

“Okay, yeah, sure. Did he say what time?” 

“He said we could come around 8 or so. And he said to bring food and/or booze.” 

Patrick nods and glances at the clock. He decides that he really should get back to his own classroom just in case any students need to talk to him before class. It’s around this time that students who aren’t doing so well come in begging for extra credit or anything that will salvage their grade. Patrick is usually pretty lenient with these kids, even though Travis warned him not to be. But Patrick feels bad for the poor things. He remembers how awful high school was for him and he knows that music class isn’t exactly the priority for most of these kids, so he gives them a fighting chance. 

The day goes by fairly quickly. Patrick lets his students spend their time studying for their other classes while he sits at his desk grading papers. When school is over, Patrick waits for 30 minutes just in case any students come in to talk to him. Nobody shows up, so he gathers up his things and locks the door. 

“Hi, Mr. Stump!” a voice calls out from down the hall. Patrick jumps and turns quickly to see one of his third period students bounding by him. She’s in her soccer uniform and has a huge grin on her face as she quickly waves and calls out that she hopes he has a good weekend. He waves back at her, smiles, and shakes his head when she is out of sight. 

He spots Travis in the parking lot, smoking a cigarette while waiting for his car to warm up. Patrick rolls his eyes and approaches him. 

“You’re going to give these kids the wrong impression.” Patrick points to the cigarette between his fingers before reaching out and plucking it from him and taking a drag. Patrick doesn’t smoke (asthma and allergies usually kept him from smoking), but the stress from end-of-semester school testing and grades is getting the better of him. Travis laughs and takes the cigarette back. Patrick feels the sweet tingle of nicotine under his skin and in his fingertips and he can’t help but smile at the feeling. 

“You wanna go get a drink right now?” Travis asks, stomping the burned out cigarette butt into the ground. 

“Nah, I have to get home and finish all this stuff up. Sorry, man. But I’ll see you tomorrow.” Patrick says. 

Patrick climbs into his car and gives a small wave to Travis who smiles and nods at him before climbing into his own car and driving off. 

\--

Pete cracks an eye open and groans at the morning sun pouring through his blinds. His dog lies next to him and gently licks his shoulder, coaxing his owner awake to feed him. Pete smiles and blindly pats the dog’s head. 

“Good morning, Hemingway.” Hemingway scoots closer and nuzzles Pete’s side in response. Pete lies there for a few more minutes before rolling out of bed and rushing to the bathroom. 

Pete feeds Hemingway and puts two slice of bread in the toaster for himself when his phone buzzes on the counter. It’s a text from William. 

**Bilvy Beckett** : _Gabe invited us to hang out at his house this weekend. Interested?_

_yeah dude that sounds fun,_ Pete quickly replies. 

He had a lot of fun with those guys last night. From his short time spent with Gabe, he really liked him, and he loved talking with Andy and Joe. His phone goes off at the same time the toast pops and Pete quickly grabs the bread and tosses it onto a plate before checking his texts. 

**Bilvy Beckett** : _Some of his other friends are going too so I hope you’re okay with that._

 _i’m cool. i like meeting new people_ , Pete responds. He pulls out peanut butter from the pantry and spread a small amount over his toast. He grabs a water bottle from the fridge and plops down on the couch to watch TV. He glances at his phone and sees another text from William. 

**Bilvy Beckett** : _FYI bring food or beer or whatever._

He makes a mental note to go shopping tomorrow and starts flipping through the channels while nibbling on his toast. Hemingway jumps on the couch and rests his head on Pete’s thigh. Pete smiles and absentmindedly rubs the dog’s ears while he watches the news. 

When he finishes his breakfast, he places the plate in the sink and cleans up the kitchen until he’s satisfied. Days without a photoshoot or any work to do is almost unbearable for him. 

Pete glances at the door to the hallway closet. He bites his lip and decides that maybe it wouldn’t hurt to break out his bass and fiddle around. It’s been a while, after all, and Pete kind of misses it. Really misses it, actually. 

He grabs the case out of the closet and gingerly sets it on the ground before opening it up. He smiles at the sight of his custom black and red bass, emblazoned with the same tattoo of the bartskull on his abdomen. He’s had this thing for years and it has yet to fail him. He tentatively pulls the bass out and sits down on the couch, savoring the weight and feel of the instrument in his hands.

Pete plucks at the strings and Hemingway looks at him quizzically before quickly losing interest and settling back down on the floor for a mid-morning nap. Pete starts to play some of the basslines to old Arma songs and a melancholy feeling settles in his stomach as he realizes exactly how much he misses being in a band and playing music. 

He spends the rest of the morning picking out basslines from old songs and learning some songs from his favorite bands while Hemingway snores in the corner. 

\--

Gabe’s house is impressive, Patrick thinks to himself as he pulls up to the large, 2-story home. He parks on the street and grabs the lasagna he made today along with a tin of brownies from his passenger seat. Patrick likes to cook and bake, so sue him. It’s a vice. A fun, terribly fattening vice. 

He fumbles with his keys until he can push the button to lock his car and slowly approaches the house, admiring the landscaping. Gabe opens the door before Patrick’s even reached it. He grins and ushers Patrick into his home, taking the food out of his hands to set in the kitchen. 

Seated around the dining room table is Travis, Joe, and Andy. They greet Patrick and Gabe offers him a beer, which he gratefully accepts. They’re playing poker. Patrick sits out of the game and observes, offering to get people snacks and drinks whenever they want something. 

The doorbell rings and Gabe folds his hand to answer it, mumbling that he had shitty cards anyway. When he comes back, he’s followed by William and a short, tan guy that Patrick recognizes almost immediately as the guy from the magazine ad. His mouth drops open and he stares in awe as the guy greets everyone around the table. Magazine Guy’s gaze lands on Patrick and suddenly Patrick’s lost all cognitive function. 

“Hi, I’m Pete,” Magazine Guy introduces, grinning at Patrick with a row of perfectly straight, distressingly white teeth. Patrick wipes his hand on his jeans before tentatively shaking Pete’s hand.

“I’m Patrick. I’ve seen you in Rolling Stone.” Patrick gets an overwhelming urge to slam his head on the table because why the _fuck_ would he say that? But Pete seems unphased. Actually, he seems pretty excited by that fact, and grins even wider at Patrick. 

“Really? That’s awesome. It’s nice to meet you, Patrick.” Pete squeezes Patrick’s hand slightly before letting it go and Patrick feels his face go red. William and Pete seat themselves at the table and the game of poker is continued. 

As the game goes on, the group of men start to chat, telling each other different, wild stories of drunken shows and one night stands gone wrong. Gabe gets up and grabs a bottle of Grey Goose from the freezer. Everyone at the table (except Andy, who rolls his eyes) hoots and hollers and Gabe grabs various mix-ins for them from the fridge. 

Patrick reluctantly folds a pair of threes and makes his way to the counter to make himself a drink. He grabs a glass from Gabe’s cabinet and knocks into Pete, who is standing right behind him.

“Shit, sorry,” Patrick mumbles, looking down at his feet. 

“It’s cool,” Pete replies, reaching behind Patrick’s head to grab a glass from the same cabinet. They make their drinks and Pete settles back into his seat. He glances at his hand and tosses the cards down, making an exasperated sound. 

“You’re screwing me with these cards, Gabe!” Pete exclaims, laughing.

Patrick leans back against the counter and watches the group continue their game. Joe has his sunglasses on to be more dramatic, his mouth set in a straight line. Travis lights a cigarette (much to Gabe’s chagrin, but he has tile floors and one night of smoking in the house probably won’t hurt) and Andy waves the smoke away from his face. William is intently studying his cards and glancing at everyone around to the table to see if he can read their facial expressions. Patrick tugs at his collar and wipes a bead of sweat that’s running down the side of his face. 

“I’m gonna go outside for a little bit. I need some air.” Patrick announces. He grabs his coat and steps out onto the patio of the backyard. The chilly air makes goosebumps rise on his skin and Patrick shivers, revelling in the feeling. 

The sliding glass door opens behind him and Patrick turns to see Pete beaming at him, drink in hand. 

“Hey, sorry to intrude. I needed to get out of there too. It’s pretty stuffy.” Pete brushes his hair out of his face and stands next to Patrick. They’re both quiet. Patrick shifts his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortably aware of how close Pete is to him. 

“So, what do you do?” Pete asks, breaking the awkward silence.

“Oh, uh, I’m a school teacher.” Patrick responds, only chancing a glance at Pete before looking down at his drink. 

“That’s cool. What do you teach?” 

“Music.” 

Pete nods and they’re quiet again. Pete can tell that Patrick is uncomfortable talking to him. He shifts from side to side while Patrick quietly sips on his drink. 

“So, you’re a model, huh? That must be fun.” Patrick says, startling Pete from his thoughts. 

“Oh, yeah, it’s a blast.” Pete deadpans. Patrick gives him a quizzical look. “It’s not that great, to tell you the truth.” 

“Really? I thought it was all glitz and glamour and girls.” Patrick says. 

Pete turns to Patrick, smiles, and shrugs. “I’m not interested in any of those things.” He takes a sip from his drink before turning on his heel and heading back inside. Patrick blinks and quickly downs the rest of his vodka soda before going back into the house. 

At the end of the night, Patrick’s sobered up and everyone decides to call it a night and turn in. Travis and William are too drunk to drive so Gabe hides their keys and tells Patrick and Andy that it’s totally fine if they stay there tonight. Joe’s already passed out on the couch, snoring loudly. Pete only had one drink the entire night, and assures Gabe that he’s definitely okay to drive. 

The three leave the house, Andy and Pete discussing when Racetraitor’s next show is supposed to be so Pete can go watch them again. Patrick bids them and awkward farewell and briskly walks to his car. He gives them a slight wave before driving away. 

Pete turns to Andy, one eyebrow raised. “What’s his deal?” he asks. 

Andy shrugs. “Patrick’s a weird dude sometimes.” 

\--

The next week goes by without Patrick and Pete seeing each other. Joe mentions to Pete that Patrick is generally a recluse anyway and not to take it personally. 

“He said Thanksgiving break starts in a few weeks, so he’ll probably come out with us then just to blow off some steam.” Joe says. Pete ignores the small feeling of disappointment that settles in his stomach. Pete really wants to get to know Patrick. He seems like a cool guy, especially since he’s a music teacher. A really cute music teacher. Pete wouldn’t have minded having _him_ as an instructor when he was in high school--

“Pete, you okay?” Joe asks. Pete blinks and focuses back in on Joe’s face. 

“Oh, yeah, sorry, I was just thinking.” Pete answers, shaking his head and motioning for Brendon to bring him another Roy Rogers, while steering their conversation towards their plans for Halloween.  
\--

Patrick ambles around his house, busying himself with meaningless tasks. Classes have ended for the day and Patrick left during his prep period, which is the last class period of the day. He has plans with Joe and Travis tonight, but until then he has nothing to do. Patrick tries not to think about how useless he feels without school to keep him busy and decides to watch TV instead. 

Halfway through an episode of Paula Deen’s cooking show, Patrick’s phone buzzes on the coffee table. A text from Joe appears on the screen: 

**Joe ‘Frohman** : _hey dude, pete’s tagging along with us tonight. hope that’s okay. we’re going to the bar for 2 for tuesday._

_yeah that’s cool._ , Patrick responds. His palms get sweaty at the thought of Pete. Patrick feels like he’s in high school again. He barely even knows the guy and he has a huge, embarrassing crush on him. _Not a crush_ , Patrick thinks to himself, _just an attraction_. Pete is hot, and Patrick is under the stupid hot guy spell. Pete’s probably shallow and vapid and only fucks hot girl models.

Patrick bites his lip and thinks about what Pete had said to him at Gabe’s house. Maybe Pete isn’t interested in girls at all? Or maybe he just meant he doesn’t care about female models or whatever. Patrick groans and falls back on the couch. Stupid fucking Pete Wentz with his stupid fucking attractive face and hot body, with his stupid tattoos. 

\--

Patrick pulls up to the bar. There’s groups of people standing outside, smoking and mingling with each other. Patrick leans his head back and sighs. He’s so ready for a night of drinking after this semester. As much as he loves his students, they can be a serious pain in the ass sometimes. 

He climbs out of his car and slowly makes his way into the bar. He immediately spots Joe and weaves through the crowd of broke college students and hipsters taking advantage of the two-for-one beer deal the bar has on Tuesdays only. 

“Hey, guys,” Patrick greets, seating himself next to Travis, who slings an arm around Patrick and hugs him tightly. 

It takes a second for Patrick to realize that Pete is at the table, sitting right across from him. He’s smiling at Patrick and fiddling with his glass of water. 

“I’m so glad the week is finally _over_!” Travis exclaims, tilting his head back and thrusting both arms in the air. 

“I know. I mean, I love my students and all, but shit. I’m glad to have some time off for the weekend.” Patrick mutters, rubbing his face in exasperation. 

“Two beers for Edward James Olmos, over here!” Joe shouts to Brendon. Brendon gives him a thumbs up and a waitress drops off the beers at the table. Patrick thanks her. She gives him a small smile and swings her hips as she walks away. 

“She seems like she’s into you,” Pete observes, before sipping his water. 

“That doesn’t really matter in Patrick’s case since he doesn’t play for that team.” Joe interjects, before Patrick can even open his mouth. 

Pete raises an eyebrow and Patrick feels his face flush with embarrassment. 

“ _Joe_ ,” Patrick hisses, narrowing his eyes at his big-haired friend. 

“What, Pete didn’t know? Shit, sorry, dude. I just assume that everyone knows at this point.” Joe apologizes. Patrick shrugs and waves his hand. It’s not really a big deal. Pete would have found out eventually, anyway. 

“It’s cool, dude. I’m not weird about it. I’m gay too.” Pete says. Nobody at the table except Patrick looks surprised at this piece of information. 

“Oh,” is all Patrick can muster. Pete gives him a reassuring smile and Patrick is thankful for Gabe and William’s intrusion on the conversation. 

A few hours and 6 beers later, Patrick is feeling loose and feeling good. Travis decides to go out for a smoke and Patrick follows, deciding that he needs some air and a little bit of quiet from the music playing loudly throughout the bar. 

They lean against the wall and Patrick stretches his arms, wincing at the cracking noises in his shoulders. The groups of people have dispersed, leaving Travis and Patrick alone outside. Patrick closes his eyes and breathes in the night air. 

The bar door opens and Patrick glances for a moment to see who’s walking out. His eyes fall on Pete who grins at both of them and gives an awkward wave. 

“I was getting a little claustrophobic in there. I hope you guys don’t mind.” Pete says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“It’s cool, man.” Travis gives Pete an easy smile that makes Pete feel better about intruding. 

“So you both work at the same school?” Pete asks, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets to withstand the cold.

“Yeah, at Glenbrook.” Travis answers. 

“What do you teach?” Pete asks Travis. 

“I teach World and U.S. History. Patrick here is a music teacher.” 

Pete nods. “Do you guys like your jobs?” 

Travis shrugs. “Pays the bills.” 

“Yeah, it’s pretty fun.” Patrick mumbles, more interested in looking at the hole in his sneakers than Pete’s stupidly handsome face. 

“Yeah, fun for you since you play like, a million fucking instruments.” Travis jabs Patrick’s side and Patrick lets out a small giggle that may or may not make Pete’s heart flip in his chest. 

“Really, what do you play?” Pete asks curiously. 

“I mostly play guitar and piano. I also play the trumpet a little bit.” Patrick shrugs. 

“A little bit? He also plays the drums, the saxophone, bass, trombone, and this motherfucker can sing.” Travis declares. 

Pete looks at Patrick, wide-eyed. “Uh, wow. I mean, I play bass, but...I bet you have a great singing voice.” 

Patrick looks away sheepishly. Travis glances between both of them and gets a look on his face as if he suddenly understands what’s going on. He flicks his cigarette butt on the ground and stomps it out with his boot. 

“I’ll see you two inside,” he gives them both a knowing grin and quickly heads back into the bar, leaving Pete and Patrick alone outside. 

“We should head back in.” Patrick mumbles, not looking up at Pete. As he turns towards the door, Pete lightly grabs his wrist. 

“Hey, wait. Can I ask you something?”

Patrick raises an eyebrow at Pete and nods. “Okay, what?” 

“I wanted to know if you’d like to hang out sometime. You seem to be really into music and I think it’d be fun if we jammed sometime or something.” Pete says. He’s looking everywhere but Patrick’s face as he waits for his response. 

“Yeah,” Patrick finally says, “that sounds fun.” Patrick smiles and Pete grins back at him. 

“Okay, cool, yeah.” 

Pete realizes that he’s still holding onto Patrick and quickly lets go. He mumbles an apology and suggests that they go inside before they catch their death. 

\--

Patrick would be lying if he said that he wasn’t excited about hanging out with Pete that Saturday. He had texted Pete earlier that morning and asked if he wanted to come over since Patrick had his piano in the house. Pete responded that he had a shoot that morning but would come over as soon as he was done. 

It’s almost 3 o’clock in the afternoon when Patrick’s phone buzzes in his pocket. 

**Pete Wentz** : _On my way over._

Patrick’s stomach flutters and he breathes slowly to calm himself. _It’s just a jam session_ , Patrick thinks to himself as he fiddles with the zipper of his hoodie, _nothing more than that_. 

Pete arrives at Patrick’s house about 10 minutes later, his face fully done up with foundation, eyeliner, and glitter. His hair is pin straight and glued to his forehead, and Patrick swears that Pete is wearing lip gloss. He snorts and Pete glares at him. 

“Shut the fuck up, it’s my _job_.” Pete says. He cracks a grin at Patrick who has his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. 

“Come on in.” Patrick ushers Pete into the house. Pete flings his messenger bag on Patrick’s couch and looks around. He admires the large, framed poster of David Bowie on the wall. 

“You have a really nice place,” he comments, turning towards Patrick who is coming from the kitchen with two water bottles in hand. 

“Thanks. It’s my own little creative nest, I guess.” Patrick shrugs and hands Pete his water. 

They spend a few hours fiddling around with different instruments and talking about their favorite bands, which leads into a conversation about favorite movies, books, shows, albums, and everything else they can think of. At one point, Pete excuses himself to go scrub the makeup off of his face, and he returns and they happily pick up their conversation from where they left off. Patrick is surprised at how easy it is to talk to Pete and how much they have in common. 

On Pete’s recommendation, they watch the Evil Dead, ( _“Dude, you have to watch it, it’s so cheesy and campy, and Bruce Campbell is a fucking badass!”_ ) and Patrick has them watch Back to the Future, even though Pete’s seen it a million times as well. 

Before they know it, it’s almost 11 o’clock. Pete stands up and stretches. He smiles at Patrick and gathers his messenger bag.

“I had a lot of fun.” Pete says as he stands in the doorway. 

Patrick smiles at him, pushes his glasses up, and adjusts his hat, a nervous habit of his. 

“I did too.” Patrick replies. 

“Well, goodnight, Patrick.” Pete turns and makes his way across Patrick’s front yard. 

“Wait, Pete,” Patrick calls out to Pete who is halfway to his car. He wheels around and looks at Patrick who bounds down the small steps and approaches him. 

“Yeah?” 

Patrick bites his lip and feels his stomach flop nervously. “I was just wondering if maybe you, uh, wanted to go out sometime? With me?” 

Pete blinks and breaks out into a huge grin which Patrick can’t help but mirror. 

“Yeah, of course, that sounds great.” Pete responds, nodding excitedly at him. Patrick feels butterflies in his stomach as Pete pulls him in for a hug. He squeezes Pete back tightly. They pull away and Pete gives him a small wave before heading to his car. 

Patrick walks back into his house and when he closes his door, he leans against it and smiles stupidly. Pete sits in his car and grins to himself as the car warms up. 

 

\--

 

A few days after Halloween, Pete and Patrick go on their first date. They have dinner at a pizza place that Pete suggests and when they walk in, the staff greets Pete cheerfully, and Patrick realizes that he is a regular customer. 

“Pete! Long time no see!” A burly man with a goatee approaches them with two menus in hand. 

“Lou! How have you been?” Lou, who must be at least twice Pete’s size, wraps his arms around Pete and gives him a squeeze. 

“I’ve been pretty good, but look at you. Got yourself a, uh, _special friend_?” He glances over at Patrick and wiggles his eyebrows at Pete. 

“Yeah, Lou, this is Patrick. Patrick, this is Lou. I’ve been coming here for pizza for as long as I can remember.” 

Lou leads them to a secluded table in the corner of the restaurant and lights the candle that’s set in between them. He hands them their menus and asks for their drink orders.

“I’ll be right back to take your order.” 

When he’s out of sight, Patrick turns to Pete and smiles. “You must know a lot of people in Chicago, huh?” 

Pete smiles and shrugs. “Yeah, I met a lot of people when I was still in Arma.”

They eat black olive and pepperoni pizza and converse about anything that comes to mind. At the end of the night, Lou brings out a complementary brownie sundae covered in hot fudge for them to share. Pete giggles and reaches across the table to wipe a bit of ice cream off of Patrick’s face. Patrick blushes and tries to ignore the fact that he can still feel Pete’s touch lingering on his cheek. 

They leave the restaurant and slide back into Pete’s car so he can take Patrick home. Pete pats his slightly protruding stomach in satisfaction. 

“I’m definitely gonna have to hit the gym tomorrow, but it was worth it.” 

Pete drops him off and walks him to his front door to “protect” him, against Patrick’s protests ( _“Pete, my front door is literally 20 feet away, nobody’s going to stab me”_ ). They stand awkwardly under the porch light and Pete sniffles and rubs his cold nose. 

“I had a lot of fun tonight, ‘Trick.” Pete says. Patrick’s heart jumps at the newly-given nickname. 

“I did too.” Patrick replies. He doesn’t want the night to be over, not really. He wants to bring Pete inside and kiss him until their lips are bruised and he wants to curl up with him in bed and listen to him talk about why Bukowski is a fucking genius in literature while Patrick dozes off, fingers loosely linked with Pete’s. 

Instead, Patrick leans in and presses a quick kiss to Pete’s cheek. Pete grins and ducks his head as Patrick unlocks his front door. They say goodbye and Patrick swiftly disappears inside of his house. He watches Pete until his car is out of sight, then flops back on his couch and covers his face, grinning like a fucking moron. 

\--

Their second date, Pete cooks for Patrick while they talk and Patrick plays with Hemingway in the living room. Patrick admires the modern look of Pete’s apartment with slight envy at Pete’s fashionable taste in furniture (that, for some reason, doesn’t really resonate in some of Pete’s clothing choices, but Patrick doesn’t want to nitpick). 

Their third date turns into more of a jam session at Patrick’s house, where Patrick shows Pete some stuff on the piano. Afterwards, they laze around in Patrick’s living room until Pete decides to fill their comfortable silence with some music. He sets up some Nina Simone, much to Patrick’s delight, and grins at Patrick while semi-seductively wiggling his hips to the opening chords of “Feeling Good”. 

Pete mouths along to song and dances his way over to Patrick, who is quietly laughing at the scene unfolding before him. His grin slowly drops as Pete settles himself on his lap, still mouthing the words, bringing his face closer to Patrick’s until their lips meet. The kiss is slow as Pete wraps his arms around Patrick’s neck. Patrick’s hands settle on Pete’s waist, their breathing both slow and steady.

He pulls back and Pete’s eyes are dark, and he licks his lips before pressing a gentle trail of kisses down Patrick’s neck. The music is dying down in the background as the outro comes to a close. Pete quickly scrambles off of Patrick and grins sheepishly. 

“Sorry, I, uh--I don’t know where that came from.” 

“Oh, no, don’t apologize. Never apologize for that.” Patrick assures, licking his lips and smiling. They settle back down and just listen to this music, Patrick lazily running his fingers through Pete’s hair until Pete falls asleep. 

\--

“So, you and Pete, huh?” Joe asks. It’s early in the morning and they’re sitting outside of a busy cafe so Joe can smoke. Patrick sips on his coffee and savors the taste of pumpkin spice, his favorite thing about the holidays.

“Yeah,” Patrick answers, smiling to himself. He and Pete have been getting along great. He likes to come over to Patrick’s house so they can have date night or jam. Patrick goes to Pete’s apartment occasionally to play with Hemingway and hang out, but Pete mentions that he likes being at Patrick’s house more because it’s cozy and more like home to him. That sentiment makes Patrick blush. 

“Well, I’m happy for you guys. Mazel Tov or whatever.” Joe shrugs, raising his cup of coffee in the air before taking a sip. “When can I expect the wedding invitation?” 

“Shut up,” Patrick mumbles, lightly punching Joe in the arm. 

“Does he, like, want to have all your babies?” 

“Joe.” 

“I can’t even imagine what those babies would look like--” 

“ _Joe._ ” 

\--

Patrick officially asks Pete to be his boyfriend a few days before Thanksgiving. He’s sitting in Pete’s kitchen, watching him expertly turn a block of tofu, noodles, and vegetables into an amazing stir fry. Pete occasionally glances at Patrick and smiles at him. Patrick smiles back, trying to ignore the anxious feeling in his stomach as he mentally prepares himself to ask the question. 

“Hey, Pete?” Patrick manages to squeak out. 

Pete looks up from the sizzling tofu cubes. “Yeah?” 

“I have an important question for you. Like, life or death question.” 

Pete raises an eyebrow. “Okay?” 

Patrick tries to breathe. “Will you be my boyfriend?” He manages to rush out in one breath, squeezing his eyes shut, as if bracing for some kind of impact. He cracks one eye open after a moment and his heart melts at the sight of Pete’s wide grin and dark blush spreading across his cheeks. 

“Yeah--yes, of course, ‘Trick.” Pete turns down the flame on the stove and races around the counter to embrace Patrick and kiss him sweetly. 

\--

It’s the beginning of December and they’re sitting inside a cozy little diner, waiting for their breakfast. Pete sips on his coffee and steals a drink of Patrick’s orange juice. They’re talking about their plans for Christmas. Patrick’s going to visit his family in Evanston again, like he did over Thanksgiving weekend. Pete’s visiting his parents in Wilmette. They’re both glad that they’ll only be a few miles apart over the holidays. 

“Maybe we can get together during that time? Maybe you can, uh, meet my parents?” Patrick suggests, biting his lip nervously. 

“You want me to meet your parents?” Pete asks incredulously. The last time he ever met someone’s parents was in high school. He dated this girl for 6 months and her family invited him over for dinner, mostly so her dad could make sure he wasn’t a delinquent or something (which Pete totally was, but he’s also a pretty good actor). 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. My mom knows that I’m dating someone and she really wants to meet you but if you aren’t comfortable I totally understand, just forget that I asked, it was a stu--” 

“ _Patrick_ ,” Pete says, smiling at his abundantly awkward boyfriend, “I would love to meet your folks.” 

“Oh. Right, good. My mom will be excited.” Patrick smiles sheepishly and ducks his head to hide his blush. 

\--

Christmas comes all too quickly for the new couple. After weeks of scrambling to find the perfect gift for each other, Patrick and Pete meet up on Christmas Eve outside of Patrick’s family’s home in Evanston. Pete shifts nervously and Patrick pulls him into a warm embrace. He smells like firewood and cinnamon and _familiar_ and it eases Pete’s nerves just a bit. 

“You don’t have to meet them, Pete. I don’t want to push you into this.” Patrick mumbles against Pete’s neck. 

“I want to, ‘Trick. They’re your family. I bet they have some embarrassing stories lined up for me to hear, and I definitely don’t want to miss that.” Pete grins and Patrick rolls his eyes. 

“Oh, you have no idea.” Patrick mutters. Pete thrusts out a small gift bag, artfully stuffed with colorful tissue paper. Patrick smiles and presses a kiss to his forehead before taking Pete’s hand and leading him inside. 

There’s a fire roaring in the fireplace and a few of Patrick’s family members scattered around the living room. Pete follows Patrick, approaching them cautiously, unsure of how they’ll react to him. They all turn their attention to Pete, who is standing awkwardly, half hidden behind Patrick. 

“Guys, this is Pete Wentz, my boyfriend. Pete, this is my sister Megan, my brother Kevin, and my dad.” Patrick introduces. 

“David Stumph, nice to meet you, son!” Patrick’s dad stands up and grips Pete’s hand in a friendly shake, beaming at him. Patrick’s siblings greet him just as warmly. Pete feels relieved and Patrick gives him a reassuring smile. 

“Mom’s in the kitchen, Rick.” Kevin says, motioning towards the sounds of sizzling food and a woman humming. 

Patrick’s mom is mixing something in a large bowl when they enter the kitchen. She looks up and breaks into a huge grin when she notices Pete standing behind her son. She sets the bowl on the counter and pulls an unsuspecting Pete into a tight hug, cooing over how handsome he is and lovely he looks this evening. Patrick gives Pete a pained smile and laughs awkwardly. 

“Uh, Pete, this is my mom. Mom, this is Pete, but you already got that, I guess.” 

“Oh, Rick, he is just the cutest thing!” She squishes Pete’s face and brushes away his bangs. 

They eat dinner at the dining table, Pete seated between Patrick and Patricia. He nibbles on some salad as the family asks both he and Patrick questions about how they are, what they’ve been up to, and other general holiday family questions that are expected. 

“So, Pete, what exactly do you do?” David asks.

All eyes are on Pete, who is suddenly nervous all over again. “I’m a, uh--I’m a part-time model.” 

“Oh. Is that how you pay the bills, or?” 

“ _Dad_.” Patrick hisses. 

“No, no, it’s okay, Patrick.” Pete assures, resting a hand on Patrick’s shoulder before turning his attention back to Patrick’s dad. “Right now, yeah, that’s generally how I pay my bills. I also do some freelance writing and I take odd jobs here and there if I have to.” 

“Oh, what kind of writing do you do?” Patricia inquires. 

“I write a weekly column for the newspaper, but I write under a pen name just in case. But I really love writing short stories and poetry. It’s what I do in my spare time.” Pete answers. 

The rest of dinner goes on and Pete is delighted (much to Patrick’s annoyance) by the stories he hears of Patrick’s childhood. 

“I still remember the time Patrick gave our dog my Barbie as a chew toy.” Megan recalls. 

“I apologized so many times for that, let it go!” Patrick says, huffing a laugh. 

“Never!” Megan shouts back. 

They end the evening late and Patricia makes Pete promise that he’ll come back and visit soon. Pete promises and hugs her goodbye before bidding the rest of the family farewell. Patrick grabs his coat and walks Pete outside, shutting the door quickly behind him. 

“Well, that wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.” Patrick comments.

“Your family is great, ‘Trick.” Pete says, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s waist and pulling him in for a kiss.

“My family is embarrassing.” Patrick mumbles between kisses. 

“They really love you.” 

“I know. And they seem to really like you, so I’m happy.” 

Pete smiles and presses a kiss to Patrick’s nose. 

“I’ll see you later, okay? Merry Christmas, ‘Trick.” Pete says in a low voice. 

Patrick nuzzles his cold nose into his boyfriend’s neck and sighs happily. 

“Merry Christmas, Pete.” 

They say goodbye and Pete heads for his car to drive back to Wilmette. Patrick stands under the glow of the porch light and waves to his boyfriend. 

“Make sure to open your present tonight, okay!” Pete calls out through his rolled-down passenger window. And then he’s gone, and Patrick smiles to himself before rushing back into the warmth of the house. 

The rest of the family has gone to bed, leaving Patrick to tend to the dying fire. He picks up the bag that had been carefully placed under the tree by his mom. He plucks out the card first and opens it. It’s a cute blue card with a snowman on the front. On the inside, there’s a note scrawled in Pete’s messy handwriting:

  
_It’s not much, but I really hope you like your presents._  
Merry Christmas, Patrick.  
Love,  
Pete. 

_P.S. You’re the best gift I could ever ask for._  


Patrick grins and digs out the tissue paper from the bag. He pulls out a package of new guitar picks, two packs of guitar strings, and 4 packs of Reese’s Peanut Butter cups. He smiles and puts the gifts back into the bag before grabbing his phone and sending a message to Pete:

_I love my presents. thank you so much. <3_

He sets his phone on the coffee table and peels out of his coat. Patrick sits next to the fire and closes his eyes, smiling contently. 

\--

A few days after Christmas, Pete and Patrick both head back to their homes in Chicago. They decide to spend New Year’s at Gabe’s house, ushering in the New Year with a slightly drunken kiss, both tasting like pizza and spirits. 

The next month goes by with blissful romance. On Valentine’s Day, Pete gives Patrick a giant teddy bear (literally almost the size of Patrick) and a heart-shaped box of chocolates. Patrick makes chocolate-covered strawberries and gives Pete a blowjob. When they’re lying in bed together that night, Pete mumbles, “ _I love you_ ”, and it’s the first time either of them has said it, and it makes Patrick’s heart swell. 

\--

“What do you want to do tonight?” Patrick asks as he flips through the new issue of Spin magazine. They’re sitting in Pete’s apartment, both sipping coffee. Pete’s reading the news on his laptop. He looks up from his computer and bites his lip. 

“Actually, I’m, uh, going to a party tonight.” Pete responds. 

“Oh. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I would’ve made plans with Joe or whatever.” Patrick shrugs. It really doesn’t bother him. He knows Pete has a life outside of Patrick and Patrick doesn’t resent him for that. 

“I was afraid you’d be upset with me.” Pete’s says in a small voice. 

“Why would you think that?” Patrick asks, quirking an eyebrow. 

“Well, because, it’s a party with all of my model friends and I didn’t know if you’d want to go and I think you’d stick out, plus a lot of those people aren’t really friendly and I just thought--” 

“Wait, you think I’d ‘stick out’? And why wouldn’t they be friendly? I mean, I know they’re models, but still.” 

“It’s just--I mean--” Pete starts. 

“Are you _ashamed_ of me or something?” Patrick asks. He’s set down his magazine and is standing by the table now, glaring at Pete who shakes his head vigorously. 

“What? No! Patrick, I’m not ashamed of you!” 

“Well you’re sure fucking acting like it! I’d ‘stick out’, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Patrick flails his arms in exasperation and Pete continues to shake his head. 

“Patrick, that’s not what I meant!” Pete calls desperately to Patrick who is gathering his coat and scarf and heading for the front door. 

“You know what, Pete? You go tonight and have fun with your beautiful model friends! Go out every night with your fucking model friends! I won’t be a burden on your social life anymore, since I’m obviously too hideous to be seen with you in public!” Patrick storms out of the apartment, Pete calling his name behind him. He gets into his car and doesn’t chance to look back as he drives away. He skips the turn-off for his house and heads to Joe’s to vent and cool off. 

Joe answers the door, shirtless and hair tousled in what could be either bedhead or just a natural Joe look. He’s rubbing the sleep from his eyes which leads Patrick to believe it’s probably the former. 

“Dude, it’s like, ass-o’clock in the morning and I’m fucking hungover, this better be important.” 

Patrick pushes past Joe and flings himself face-down on the tattered faux-leather couch. 

“Pete’s a fucking asshole.” Patrick mumbles into a pillow. 

Joe sighs and closes the door. “What did he do?” 

“He said he’s going to a party tonight and he didn’t invite me, which I’m absolutely fine with, I know he’s got a life, but he said it’s because I would ‘stick out’. He’s fucking embarrassed of me, Joe.” 

“Wow. What a fucking asshole. I’m sorry, Patrick.” 

They stay silent and Patrick keeps his face buried in the pillow. Joe sits on the floor next to him and picks at the carpet under his knee. 

“I wish I was better at this whole ‘cheering people up’ thing.” Joe says. 

Patrick turns his head to face him. “It’s okay. Do you like, want to watch a movie or something?” 

“Fuck yeah, dude.” 

When he gets home that night, he’s slightly buzzed from the amount of beer he and Joe drank. Patrick checks his phone and sees numerous missed calls and unread texts, all from Pete. He decides to ignore them and plugs his phone in to charge before half-heartedly getting himself into his pajamas and flopping into bed to sleep. 

\--

After the 5th voicemail he’s left for Patrick, Pete shoves his phone into his pocket and sighs. He’s sitting at the bar of a hip new nightclub, surrounded by many of the people he’s met in the industry. 

“Can I get another Gin and Tonic?” Pete calls to the bartender. 

The bartender, who Pete doesn’t like nearly as much as he likes Brendon, sets a glass in front of him. 

“That’s your fifth one, dude.” He states, as if Pete doesn’t already know. He shrugs and downs it in record time, wiping his mouth and wincing at the burning sensation travelling down his throat and into his belly. 

“Pete Wentz!” William shouts over the music, clapping Pete on the shoulder. Pete’s stomach churns and he looks wearily up at William’s glittery face. William’s smile falters when he sees Pete’s scowl. “What’s wrong with you?” 

“Can we talk outside?” Pete shouts back. 

William nods and Pete hops off the stool, throwing some cash at the bartender and telling him to keep the change, to which the bartender gives him a little, two-finger salute. 

Once outside, Pete leans back against the wall and inhales the crisp April air. He feels dizzy and realizes that this is the most he’s had to drink since January. 

“Okay, what’s up with you?” William asks, leaning against the wall right next to Pete. 

“I said something fucking stupid to Patrick today.” And Pete explains what happened and William gapes and shakes his head in disbelief. 

“Why the fuck would you say that?” 

Pete tugs at his hair and groans. “I know! I didn’t mean it to hurt him though, it just came out in the worst fucking way possible, of fucking course, because it’s me! All I meant was that a lot of people in the industry aren’t very nice and Patrick is the sweetest thing in the world, and I didn’t want anyone to hurt his feelings or upset him, but then I ended up doing just that even though I was just trying to protect him!” 

“Dude, I know your heart was in a good place. But you need to talk to Patrick about it. I’m sure Patrick’s got his insecurities, we all do, but he needs to know that you didn’t mean it in a bad way.” 

“I’ve been trying to talk to him all night. He won’t answer my calls or my texts. I’m so fucking stupid.” Pete hits the back of his head against the wall and squeezes his eyes shut. He wishes he could learn to just keep his fucking mouth shut. He wishes he could go back in time and not say what he said. He wishes Patrick would just _answer his fucking phone and talk to him!_

By the end of the night, Pete is almost too drunk to stand. It takes William and Ryan Ross, one of William’s other friends from his old agency, to get him into a cab and back home. William helps him up to his apartment and leaves after getting Pete situated in bed. Pete grabs his phone from the mess of bed sheets and blinks at the bright light. No messages, no calls. 

\--

“You need to talk to him eventually.” Travis says during lunch. Patrick sighs and pokes at the greenish-colored hard-boiled egg in his salad. School lunches are fucking disgusting, Patrick decides. 

“I know.” 

“You know he didn’t mean anything bad by it.” Travis continues before slurping up noodles from his Maruchan Instant Lunch. 

“I know.” Patrick repeats. After mulling it over for a few days (along with some always helpful wisdom from Andy Hurley, who is seriously a walking fucking fortune cookie), Patrick realized that Pete wasn’t trying to be hurtful. He was trying to protect Patrick from being hurt. Patrick isn’t a model, he knows that. And, the more Patrick thinks about it, the more he realizes that it might be weird if he brought Pete to a faculty party, because Pete would stick out. Pete’s not a teacher, he’s a fucking model. And Patrick _is_ a teacher, not a fucking model. They come from two completely different worlds. Sure, what Pete said may have been shitty, but Patrick knows his heart was in the right place. But Patrick still hasn’t swallowed his pride to talk to Pete yet. 

When he gets home, there’s a bouquet of roses sitting on his porch. He slowly approaches it and picks it up. There’s a pink envelope amongst the stems. Patrick opens his door and kicks it closed behind him. He sets the roses on the kitchen counter and opens the envelope. Inside is a small white card that has a note in Pete’s distinctive handwriting:

  
_You’re a canary, I’m a coal mine._  
I’m sorry.  
-Pete  


And Patrick’s heart breaks, just a little bit. He bites his lip and gingerly sets the card down next to the flowers. He pulls out his phone from his pocket. He quickly types a text to Pete and sends it before he can second guess himself.

A few miles away, Pete’s phone vibrates and he blindly grabs for it around his bed. He opens his eyes and sees Patrick’s name. He’s heart speeds up and he smiles when he sees the message: 

**Patrick Stump** : _Even if you’re the coal mine, I’m still alive and breathing._

\--

 

They don’t talk about it when Pete comes over to Patrick’s house that night. Instead, they eat dinner and talk about their how their day went, wash the dishes, and walk Hemingway (who is always excited to be in Patrick’s house because of the small backyard) around the block a couple of times. 

When they’re both in bed to sleep, Pete rolls over to face Patrick, who is lying on his side, one arm positioned awkwardly under his pillow, the other resting loosely in front of him. 

“You know I love you, right?” Pete asks in a hoarse whisper. 

“Yes. You know I love you more, right?” Patrick counters. Pete smiles and pokes lightly at Patrick’s chest. His hand wanders downward until its resting right above Patrick’s hip. His thumb rubs soothing circles into the slightly exposed, pale skin and he smiles and leans it to quickly peck Patrick’s lips. 

“These sweats are awful, ‘Trick,” he mumbles against Patrick’s cheek. 

Patrick smiles and rolls his eyes. “Like you’re even one to talk.”


End file.
